Chapter 6
Raye wept with great, shuddering sobs, her body wrenching, her hands quivering over her eyes. She’d failed. She’d failed her son. Not only had she failed to feed him, to protect him, to prepare him — but in keeping him from Kalfr, she’d also hurt him.
She’d been… cruel.
Gods, why hadn’t she seen it? How had she missed it, all these years?
Yes, she could keep the orcs away from Svein — but maybe she would never be able to keep Svein away from the orcs.
They were still his people, his heritage, and perhaps he would be forever drawn to them, connected to them.
Just the way Raye was with her mother’s weaving, with the foods she liked most, the old Mirkandian songs she still sang to Svein at nights.
And if she made Svein choose between her and the orcs, would he even choose her? Or if he did, would he come to regret it? Would he resent her? Would she drive away the only precious family she had left, because of her own bitterness and fear?
I should never have dreamt he could find worse than you.
Another broken sob escaped Raye’s mouth, and she took a dragging breath, dug her palms into her eyes.
She could still hear Svein chattering outside, his higher voice occasionally broken by Gaelfr’s deep slow rumble, and she desperately clung to it, to that unmistakable excitement and joy in Svein’s voice.
He was still here, for now. Still happy. Still safe.
And that — that was the most important thing. Wasn’t it? No matter how much she hated Gaelfr, Svein was still happy, and safe. So maybe — Raye could focus on that, even just for now. She could try to be — civil. She could suppress her loathing toward this awful invading orc. For Svein.
But she couldn’t trust Gaelfr. Not after everything he and Kalfr had done. Never, ever again.
It was something decided, at least, and Raye wiped her hands at her eyes, and fumbled for the meat she’d brought in. She would do her best for Svein. No matter how much it hurt. No matter the cost.
So she kept listening to his happy little voice, treasuring it, as she began cooking their supper.
First, she chopped up a few onions and shallots from her stores, and set them on to simmer, and then added the fresh meat, and the dried herbs and spices she knew Svein liked best. On a whim, she whipped up a few sweetcakes, too, combining the last of their butter and flour with a touch of their precious honey, and carefully toasting the cakes over the fire, until they looked just like the ones her mother used to make.
And though she sought to suppress it, the image of Kalfr kept rising as she worked. These cakes of yours must be the fare of the goddess, he’d told her upon his first taste of one, his eyes hazy with pleasure and awe. You bear her gifts in all things, Raye.
At the time, Raye had desperately wanted to believe such a claim — whatever Mirkandian faith her mother might have held, she’d apparently lost it after Raye’s father had died, soon after Raye’s birth.
And to Raye, the thought of Kalfr’s benevolent, sweetcake-loving goddess granting her gifts had felt almost as magical as Kalfr himself.
But — no. If such a goddess existed, she’d surely abandoned Raye long ago, when Kalfr had left. Just like her mother’s gods had abandoned them, too.
The daylight through the papered windows had almost faded by the time Gaelfr and Svein came back indoors, Svein still eagerly chattering and hovering at Gaelfr’s heels.
While Gaelfr carried the rest of the bounty from his hunt, all sorted into neat piles on a large wooden platter Raye had never seen before.
“Papa Gaelfr made us a plate!” Svein said proudly, jabbing his claw toward it. “And I helped!”
Papa Gaelfr. Raye couldn’t hide her flinch, but she again clung for her resolve. She had to do her best for Svein. She couldn’t take this away from him. She couldn’t.
“That’s wonderful, love,” she replied, with only a faint catch in her voice. “Thank you both so much.”
She forced a smile toward Gaelfr’s face, before snapping her gaze back to Svein. “I hope you’re hungry, then?” she asked him. “Or are you already full from all that raw meat?”
She again couldn’t help the waver in her voice — the hurt, or even the jealousy — but Svein didn’t seem to notice, and skipped excitedly toward the table.
“No, I only ate a little!” he said cheerfully over his shoulder.
“Papa Gaelfr said we should eat together, and your food smells better anyway, Mama. Oooh, are those sweetcakes?”
His nose gave a hopeful sniff at the air, and despite that Papa Gaelfr again, something slightly settled in Raye’s belly. Svein was still here. She would do her best for him. She would.
She kept repeating that as she dished out the meat and sweetcakes, and then joined Svein and Gaelfr at their small round table.
Gaelfr had already brought over the stool from Raye’s loom to sit on, and when Raye placed a full steaming plate before him, he blinked down toward it, and then cast her a narrow, wary look.
“You do not,” he said, under his breath, “need to share your cooking with me, woman.”
Raye could feel Svein’s eyes watching, and she forced another smile as she sat down with her own plate. “It’s only fair, after you did the hunting,” she replied. “Don’t worry, I won’t poison you.”
She tried to say it lightly, but it came out sounding flat, and she winced as she took a too-large bite of her meat.
But it tasted good — excellent, really — and thankfully, Svein didn’t seem bothered by her poor attempt at a joke, either.
“Mama’s food is yummy,” he informed Gaelfr, as he eagerly shoved a large hunk of meat into his mouth. “Don’t you think, Papa Gaelfr?”
Gaelfr hesitated, but obligingly took a bite — and Raye didn’t miss how his eyes widened as he chewed, his nostrils flaring. “Ach, this is good,” he said, once he’d swallowed, with a nod toward Raye. “Thank you, woman.”
I should never be so cruel, Raye’s thoughts chanted, worse than you — but she made herself nod too, and kept eating.
And if nothing else, she could admit it was a relief to eat like this, to not need to worry about how much was left, or how much she could afford to spare for Svein.
It felt like a luxury, like an unspeakable gift, even if it was from this horrible encroaching orc.
“Do you grow these herbs?” Gaelfr asked now, in a question that might have been meant for Svein and Raye both. “I have not tasted them before.”
Raye kept her eyes on her plate, but Svein again replied, telling Gaelfr about the garden, and how he helped Raye plant and harvest the food, and how they hung and dried the herbs together.
And how some of the herbs were from seeds that had come across the sea with Grand-mama, before Raye was born, and how Raye had also used some of the plants to dye her yarn for weaving, before.
At that, Raye betrayed a glance up — it had been so long since she’d dyed her own yarn, she was surprised Svein remembered it — but he smiled hopefully toward her, while Gaelfr’s eyes again studied her, his head tilting. “Before?” he asked. “Why do you not do this now?”
He shot a look toward the loom, which currently displayed a large sheet of simple beige wool, and Raye swallowed as she attempted a shrug.
“It takes too long,” she replied, though it sounded choked — and suddenly, foolishly, there was again the overpowering urge to weep.
“And it’s too expensive, and my buyers mostly — well.
I just couldn’t turn enough profit anymore. ”
She couldn’t make herself meet Gaelfr’s eyes — worse than you, worse than you — and she found she wasn’t hungry anymore, either.
She’d failed at weaving, along with all the rest of it.
She’d abandoned her family’s trade, her mother’s great gift, so she could make plain beige cloth for the villagers who hated her.
She’d even been forced to sell the last few small tapestries she’d meant to keep for herself, including a precious one from her mother.
But that still hadn’t been enough. Svein had still gone hungry, because of her.
“Here, love,” she said, without thinking, as she slid her half-empty plate toward Svein across the table. “I’m already full, so you ought to have the rest.”
Svein absently nodded — he was well used to this routine by now — and Raye twitched as Gaelfr’s hand shot across the table, plucked up the plate, and set it back before her again. “No, woman,” he said, his voice hard. “You must eat, also.”
The rebellion burned through Raye’s stomach, and she glared back at Gaelfr, opened her mouth to protest. Ready to say something she’d surely regret, but then —
His hand. On her bare forearm. Warm. Heavy. Touching her. Touching her.
Raye froze, staring down at Gaelfr’s hand, gripping like that around her too-thin arm.
His thick black claws were drawn in, his skin warm and callused against hers, his big fingers slightly spasming.
Sending a sudden jolting heat through her arm, her chest, even low into her belly, because it had been so damned long since she’d been touched by anyone but Svein.
And for a hitched, hurtling breath, she needed Gaelfr to keep doing it, maybe to dig his claws in just a little, let her feel how strong he was, how capable, and…
Too late, she dragged her gaze away, and up to Gaelfr’s face — where she found him looking straight back at her, with an unreadable glint in his eyes.
“You will eat what I hunted for you,” he said, steady and low, every word vibrating through Raye’s belly.
“I swore before the goddess to help you, in the stead of my ástvinur.”